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“Oh, to be the spitting image of her father, or a younger version of her mother. She longed to carry those pieces of them, written across her face so that none might forget those who had been so precious to her, but were nothing now.” — Molly Collier
Oh, to be the spitting image of her father, or a younger version of her mother. She longed to carry those pieces of them, written across her face so that none might forget those who had been so precious to her, but were nothing now.